Sneak Peek
I don’t often get visitors, but tonight I’m welcoming a very special ally.
Gunnar Finch.
The—hopefully—future Archangel, heir to Celestial Hills.
I swing the door wide, and there”s Gunnar, looking like trouble in a leather jacket. ”Evening,” I say, stepping aside to let him into my suite. The Bellanova doesn”t skimp on luxury—a fact not lost on either of us as he gives the room an appreciative once-over. He’s been here before, obviously, but it’s been a few days—and there aren’t as many half-dressed women here as usual, distracting from the decor.
”Drink?” I offer, already moving toward the cabinet where I keep the good stuff. It”s been a while since we”ve had one of our little chats, just the two of us.
”Would be great,” he replies with that lopsided grin that tells me he”s here for business, pleasure, or maybe both. He drops into a chair by the window, sprawling out as if he owns the thing. His gaze is drawn outside where Oasis twinkles under a blanket of night, but I know his mind is anywhere but on the view.
I chuck the door closed with a flick of my wrist and head over to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey that”s aged longer than half the upstarts trying to take over this city. ”You”ve got your whole damn pack here now.” The words are light but carry a truth I”m still adjusting to. ”Guess I need to find myself a new drinking buddy.”
”Looks like it,” he chuckles, his eyes tracking my movements as I uncork the bottle and pour two glasses.
I grab the tumblers, the liquid gold catching the dim light, and make my way over to him. Handing him one, I take my own seat, settling into the comfort of familiar company.
”Remember when this was an every night thing?” I muse aloud, swirling the whiskey in my glass. ”Strategizing, plotting our next move...now, you”ve got your hands full, what with your pack taking up all your time.”
”Miss me already?” Gunnar teases, the corner of his lip twisting into a smirk that doesn”t quite reach his eyes. He”s poking at me, trying to draw out the sentimental crap we both steer clear of.
”Please,” I scoff, taking another swig and letting the burn of the whiskey ground me. ”We”ve got more important things to hash out than your ego…like your brother.”
Gunnar nods, acknowledging the shift to darker waters. He glances around like he’s worried someone’s listening, and I raise my brows.
“I’ve made sure we aren’t being overheard,” I tell him. “Trust me.”
He grunts under his breath, then sighs.
”There”s something you should know,” he starts, leaning back against the chair, his fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on the glass. ”We think Vance staged that mess on the way to Oasis—”
”The assassination attempt…on himself and the rest of your pack?” I cut in, my interest piqued. The move reeks of Vance”s theatrical flair for manipulation. “That’s insane—even for him.”
”Yep.” Gunnar”s voice is flat, but there”s an edge to it. ”We think he did it to drive a wedge between me and Aisling.”
I let that sink in, the implication clear as the amber liquid in our glasses. Vance”s games are nothing new, but this...this is personal.
And if there”s one thing I know about Gunnar, it”s that when it comes to Aisling, every nerve ending stands on guard.
”Damn,” I say, finally. ”He”s playing with fire.”
”Isn”t he always?” There”s a hint of dark amusement in Gunnar”s tone, but it”s overshadowed by the concern etched deep in his brow.
”Doesn”t surprise me,” I admit, swirling the whiskey in my glass. ”But what”s your play here, Gunnar? What are you going to do about it?”
Gunnar”s gaze drifts past the window, his eyes tracing the skyline of Oasis as night falls upon us. The city lights flicker like distant fireflies caught in a jar. He seems lost for a moment, caught up in a maze of thoughts only he can navigate.
”I”m not entirely sure,” he confesses, and there”s a rare hesitance in his voice that tells me more than words could. He shifts uncomfortably, a clear sign he”s grappling with something much larger than uncertainty.
”Vance has been...fixated on Aisling from day one.” His jaw clenches, and even without looking directly at him, I can feel the weight of his worry. ”I don”t know if I”m more pissed or scared. If Vance is willing to stage an attack on himself, what the hell wouldn”t he do?”
I nod, understanding the gravity of Gunnar”s concern. Aisling isn”t just another pack member; she”s his anchor, his weakness, and his strength all bundled into one fierce package.
”Obsession”s a dangerous beast,” I murmur, considering the implications. There”s no telling how far Vance”s obsession might push him, and it’s clear Gunnar knows the stakes are high.
”Yeah…” Gunnar”s voice trails off, but the unspoken words hang heavy between us.
He’s worried about Aisling, and rightly so. With Vance’s twisted mind games escalating, I can’t help but think we’re perched on the edge of a blade, and it’s only a matter of time before we slide off.
“I really thought he was worried about me for a bit,” he mutters. “Trying to protect me as his family. But something’s changed since New Eden; he wants her, and he doesn’t want me getting in the way.”
“Well, you did challenge him for the position of Archangel, so that’s something,” I shrug.
Gunnar snorts. “Fair enough. I just…didn’t realize he was so obsessed with her. He wants her very, very badly.”
I can”t help but chuckle, even though there”s nothing particularly funny about the situation. We”re two alphas steeped in a game that could spell ruin for us all, yet here we are, finding levity in the dark. ”I don’t mean to be rude, but she’s gotta have some kind of magic pussy, right?”
The words slip out, crude and edged with the kind of morbid amusement that comes from too many nights spent over glasses of whiskey, scheming against enemies both seen and unseen. It”s our way, Gunnar and I—finding laughter where none exists.
Gunnar doesn’t bat an eye at my crassness; instead, he throws his head back and laughs—a deep, hearty sound that fills the room. He leans forward, the whiskey glass dangling loosely between his fingers as he grins with a wild sort of pride that’s infectious.
“Yeah, it’s pretty damn good,” he admits without a shred of humility, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk that”s all alpha confidence. The man is smitten, utterly taken by Aisling, and he doesn”t care who knows it.
We share a look then, one of those silent acknowledgments that pass between two people who understand each other too well. It”s a moment that seems to bridge the gap between us, the unsaid truth that no matter how twisted this world gets, some things are worth fighting for.
I tip my glass to him, a salute to his unabashed honesty, and take another sip of the smooth whiskey. The burn of it is familiar and comforting, like the presence of an old friend. “So, what’s the plan? You’ve got me curious now.”
Gunnar sets his glass down on the windowsill with a clink, his gaze shifting out to the cityscape below, where the lights of Oasis twinkle like stars brought down to earth.
”We”ve got something in the works,” he says, his voice low and steady.
That catches my attention. Plans within plans—that”s how we’ve always operated. It”s the only way to survive in this cutthroat world where alliances shift like sand underfoot, especially when we’re taking on the two most dangerous men on the west coast. I lean in, eager to hear the details of this new scheme.
”Is that so?” I ask, my eyes narrowing, trying to read his expression. It”s clear Gunnar isn”t just here for drinks and reminiscing about the good old days. He”s plotting, and the gravity of his tone tells me it”s something big.
”Something that”ll change everything,” he adds cryptically.
”Good,” I say, masking my growing intrigue with a casual flick of my wrist. ”Because you know I”m in. Always am.” It”s the truth; he doesn”t need to pry any further to know that my loyalty isn”t just lip service. But I want details, and Gunnar”s not one to disappoint.
He leans back, his shoulders casting a broad shadow against the dim light filtering through the window. There”s a momentary quiet between us, the kind that precedes a storm. Then, he meets my gaze, determination etched into the lines of his face.
”Here”s the deal, Nero,” he starts, his voice dropping to an even more confidential tone. ”Aisling, the pack, and I—we”re planning on staging Vance’s death…unseating the Archangel himself.”
”Damn,” I exhale, impressed despite myself. ”You’re aiming high, brother.”
”Someone has to,” Gunnar says with a shrug, although his eyes are anything but nonchalant. They burn with a fierce resolve. ”And with your help, we can make it happen.”
”And let me guess—you”re going to take his place?”
Gunnar huffs out a laugh. ”Me…and Aisling. We”re going to rule together, make it clear that omegas deserve a place on the throne. Inari”s ready to back her—so we”re all in.”
I nod, slow and deliberate. This is bigger than any play we”ve made before. Riskier, too. But it’s got that thrill of a challenge I can never resist. ”You got my help, Gunnar. Let”s bring the bastard down.”
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